9780982307403 by Gregrhi Arawn Love

TV Guide’s 35 cents. The kid
    gave me a dollar. That’s the right change.” The
    man at the register looked around to the other
    customers in the line and pulled a TV Guide
    from the small rack on the countertop, pointing

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    out the price on the cover. Bobby’s anger turned
    to irritation.
    “Next time I wanna receipt. Got me walkin’ all
    day-- way down here in the gotdamn cold. Get
    the hell outta here,” he demanded and swung me
    by the hair toward the doorway. I heard someone
    yell at Bobby, something about calling the police.
    Holding onto the door, ready to leave, I watched
    Bobby turn and swing wildly at an older man. His
    stupor did not allow him to connect and the older
    man scolded Bobby and told him to leave. Bobby
    walked to the door and pushed me outside back
    into the cold. As we walked hurriedly through the
    cold, he warned me of the beating I had waiting
    for me when we got home.
    Later that night, a loud banging on the door and
    the word “Police” shook the apartment alive.
    Frantically, Debbie burst into our room and told
    Matthew and me to sit on the couch. She
    coached us to repeat the usual story of our regular
    fights and sibling rivalry to explain my cuts and

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    bruises. Meanwhile, Bobby moved in silence,
    transferring all of the drugs into their bedroom.
    After the last trip, he sat on the couch with the
    rest of us. We all then pretended to watch
    television.
    From the couch I heard the pounding more
    clearly, followed by a loud commanding voice:
    “Open up, Bridgeport Police.”
    With the apartment acceptably presentable,
    Debbie opened the door as far as the chain would
    allow. She spoke with the officers in a low voice,
    then closed the door and undid the chain to
    reopen the door. Four officers entered the
    apartment in single file. Bobby stood up in a
    defensive stance. The police were not a familiar
    presence in the Village but had been to our
    apartment on several occasions.
    The officers questioned Bobby about the incident
    at the store. From the couch, I heard that the
    clerk had called the police about a disturbance
    and possible child abuse. An officer stooped in

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    front of Matthew and me while the others stood
    surrounding Bobby and Debbie in the kitchen.
    “Did he hurt you in the store?” the officer asked
    me pointing to Bobby.
    “No,” I answered softly.
    “Did he hurt you after you left the store?” he
    asked.
    “No.” Bobby had taught me after our first
    interaction with the police to only answer the
    question I was asked, and to never give more
    information than necessary.
    “Does he ever hurt you?” The officer continued.
    “No.” I answered.
    “Does he ever hurt you?” The officer asked
    Matthew who was sitting beside me.
    “No,” he said with a laugh.
    Surprised by his lack of concern, the officer asked,
    “What’s so funny about that?”
    “No one hurts me . We fight all the time, and I
    win. That’s all we do is fight.” Matthew’s
    excitement was nearly uncontainable.

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    “Is that true? Do you two fight much?” The
    officer asked.
    I turned to Matthew with disdain, “Yes, but I
    beat him one time.”
    “Just one time,” Matthew blurted in annoyance.
    “Did he,” pointing to Matthew, “do this ” pointing
    back to my face, “to you?” The officer asked.
    “Yes,” I replied as Matthew gave a short laugh.
    The officer stood up and walked to the kitchen to
    confer with the other officers. There was a
    hushed discussion, and the officers walked to the
    door. The officer that had spoken with Matthew
    and I turned and called to Matthew, “Hey, son,
    be nicer to your little brother. He’s your brother.
    You need to be protecting him, not hurting him.”
    Debbie opened the door and let the officers out.
    Debbie went into the kitchen and waited by the
    edge of the window. “They’re gone,” she said
    finally.
    “Good job boys. Damn good job. Dumb
    mufuckas think they gon’ come up in ‘ere and say

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    some